Freya wants to be anywhere but Beacon Hills Memorial right now. There’s too much work to be done.
After receiving the McCall pack’s condolences on the universe’s choice of soulmate for her, she sends them off with a request of a list of ingredients that she’d need for the spell. They don’t seem thrilled about jumping through all these hoops for Peter Hale, but Derek convinces them it’s worthwhile if it gets Freya out of their hair.
It’s not a wrong assumption.
Once they’re gone, she reaches for the various tubes and wires, looking to disconnect herself from these infernal machines as soon as possible.
“Freya, stop.” Hayley’s hands come out of nowhere to pin hers to the bed, stopping her from whatever she’s doing.
“We need to find the nematon so I can get started.”
“You almost bled to death.”
“You can give me some of your blood now. It won’t mess with the spell field.”
“No.” Hayley’s hands tighten, using a bit of her superior strength to pin the witch down, almost as though she knows her reserves are too low to waste any on anything other than the locator spell. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what happened.”
Freya purses her lips, but stops struggling. “Peter was digging into a group of hunters learning from an old nemesis of his. He found out that they had joined forces with a secret organization called Triad. He came back to see what my brothers might know abut it, but they followed him.”
“And they’re the ones who took him?”
“He took Hope while Klaus tried to hold them off. Ran into the Quarter. The next thing I know I’m—”
Before she can finish the sentence, her body convulses, and her heartbeat spikes. Freya lets out a scream of pain as it feels like a wave of electricity shoots through her—phantom pains, so she can only imagine that what Peter’s going through is much worse.
She’s assaulted by a series of images through Peter’s eyes. An electricity generator connected to a chain-link fence. Faces of hunters who are asking him some kind of question, but the words aren’t coming through. Eventually, the pain subsides, and she collapses back against the bed.
“Freya?” Hayley’s concern is clear, and Freya shakes her head.
“They’re torturing him,” she murmurs, scrubbing her face. “Occasionally I’ll get… flashes.”
“I didn’t know you two had bonded that close.” Hayley frowns. “Peter had Hope? Does that mean…?”
She shakes her head. “I haven’t seen her in any of the visions. He wouldn’t have let them hurt her. He would have hidden her somewhere safe first.”
Hayley nods, scrubbing her hands over her face. “Where’s Klaus?”
“That, I don’t know.” She swallows hard. “Someone shot me. When I came to, I was alone. But if you’re still seeing in color, then…”
“Then he’s still alive.” Hayley nods. “I know. I’ve been holding on to that. But now I don’t know where my daughter is.”
Freya reaches forward and places a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find them. All of them. But in order to do that—”
“I need to get you out of here. I know.” Checking to make sure that none of the nurses and doctors were coming, Hayley bites into her wrist before offering it to Freya to drink. She swallows the metallic taste greedily, almost as though it might will it to work faster. Soon, she was feeling steadier, the aftershocks of the vision wearing off, and she moves to swing to her feet.
“Find me pants,” Freya orders. “We have a tree to find.”
* * * * *
Another wave of pain hits her as the two of them settle into the car Derek left behind for them, and Freya grips the door handle as she tries to force away the pain. She’s in the passenger’s seat, fortunately, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. This time she can make out more of the faces of those responsible, make out a few more of the words, but she still doesn’t know what they want from him.
Part of her wants to reach back, try to tell him she’s coming for him. That she will do her best to recover him quickly, even if it takes all the magic she has left. From him, all she can feel is pain and stubborn indignation.
“Freya?” Hayley asks again, just to be sure, and Freya shakes her head as she comes out of it.
“Drive.”
The drive into the preserve is slow, with Hayley slowly navigating her way through the small paths until they reach a clearing with a large tree stump. Standing there is what looks like a sheriff’s deputy, who peers at them both curiously. There’s something more to him, though Freya can’t quite put her finger on what.
“You’re new,” he comments.
“We’re visiting. Scott McCall knows we’re here and we need to borrow the nematon.” Freya doesn’t have time for local politics, but he relaxes at the idea of Scott knowing they’re here. She goes to commune with the tree, settling on the top of the stump and crossing her legs under her.
“Right.” The man turns to the other woman curiously. “Jordan Parrish.”
“Hayley Marshall. And that’s Freya Mikaelson. Scott didn’t tell you we were coming?”
Parrish shakes his head. “No, I, uh. Have a special relationship with the tree.” There’s a long, uncomfortable pause. “I’m a hellhound.”
“That makes sense.” Freya opens her eyes and enters the conversation, studying him curiously. “It’s been a long time since I’ve come across one of your kind. But then again, it’s been a long time since I’ve had need for a nematon.”
“If you don’t mind my asking—” Parrish is very polite. Very different from the last hellhound Freya encountered. “—what exactly do you want with the nematon?”
“We’re trying to find Peter Hale.”
Parrish’s face sours almost immediately. “Are you sure you want to?”
“Good to see that Peter still makes friends wherever he goes,” Freya sighs, getting the sense that no one in this town actually cares about the person she’s come to depend on. Not that she had any delusions about the man Peter was, but she had expected a little more concern.
Hayley sighs. “He’s in trouble, and it’s making her a little cranky.”
Parrish shakes his head. “No, I’m sure even he has people who care about him. I just don’t run into them that often.”
Another pair of headlights appears over the crest of the hill, and Scott, Lydia and Derek climb out of the car, with the bag of ingredients she asked for. She reaches forward to take them, and Scott eyes the nematon suspiciously.
“You’re not going to wake that up anymore than it already is, are you?”
Freya shakes her head. “Just borrowing a little extra juice, that’s all.”
“How does this spell work, exactly?” Derek asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Usually a locator spell just needs something that belongs to them.”
“Yes, but wherever he is, he’s being cloaked so I need to take a more direct approach.” Freya looks over at Scott and Lydia. “The bite he gave you both is a metaphysical bond. A sharing of energy that an alpha gives to their betas, whether they’re birthing them or biting them. Even if the alpha is no longer an alpha, that bond remains.” He then glances over at Derek. “And you’re family, by blood, even if not by choice. With a mix of all our bloods, and the right enchantment, I might break through whatever they’re using to cloak him.”
“Why your blood?” Parrish asks and Freya grits her teeth, not wanting to explain this again. Thankfully—or not—Lydia speaks up for her.
“Peter’s her soulmate.”
Parrish winces. “I’m sorry.” Though at least it seems like he’s apologizing for his commentary, rather than the fact that it’s Peter. Still, Freya grits her teeth in protest.
“I really wish people would stop—”
Another vision assaults her, and she lets out a cry of pain, slumping forward on the stump. Instinctively, her body draws some of the tree’s power and things solidify, pushing through the pain and the white hot murderous rage that she’s acutely familiar with as being Peter’s.
“You’re going to tell us where the tribrid is, mutt.” The hunter sneers, flipping the switch on the generator again. “We’ll get the truth out of you. And then? Well, they’ll never see us coming.”
Freya jerks out of the vision to find Derek and Hayley, both leaning over her, concerned. Freya reaches up, swiping at the trickling sensation under her nose and coming back with blood.
“You can’t do this,” Hayley protests. “The visions are taking too much out of you.”
“They don’t have Hope,” Freya rasps, focusing on Hayley. “They’re torturing him to find out where he hid her.”
Something like relief flows through Hayley, and she shakes her head. “Still, this is too much. He won’t give her up, and you know that.”
“Are you sure?” Lydia replies. “The Peter we know only cares about his own skin.” Freya and Hayley turn two stern glares at the redhead, but Derek is the one who speaks.
“Not if it’s a kid,” Derek shakes his head. “I can’t believe he’s that far gone that he would sacrifice a little girl.” Derek looks back over at the other two. “You guys don’t have to help us find him, but I will.”
“No,” Scott shakes his head. “I’ll help. If it keeps your daughter safe.”
“Thank you,” Hayley nods. “But I still don’t think Freya is up for this.”
“Just give me a little more blood, and I’ll be fine.”
“And if you die and go into transition.”
“I won’t die.”
“Freya—”
“I won’t die,” Freya’s voice softens. “I can handle this. But we need to get started. We can’t keep debating this.”
Hayley takes a deep breath before nodding. “Okay. Okay. But if it looks like you’re overloading yourself, I’m pulling the plug.”
Freya nods, taking whatever small win she can get before gesturing for the bag of supplies the trio brought her. She pulls out a wooden bowl and a knife before extending it to each of them. “I need you all to bleed into this. I’ll take care of the rest.”
She just hopes they aren’t running out of time.
* * * * *
Starting the spell comes easily. She takes the bowl of blood and pours it over the map in front of her. The longer she chants, the mixture flows outwards, creating a winding path away from them towards the person she’s looking for. The problem is, Peter is far, far away, so progress is slow.
Still, she keeps chanting. The blood has made it to Oklahoma City, when the low simmering rage she’s learned to recognize as Peter changes to a spike of fear. It comes suddenly enough that her concentration falters, and she places a hand over her chest.
“Something’s wrong.”
“He’s being tortured,” Derek points out. “You already knew that.”
“Yes, but when that was happening, he was angry. Now he’s scared.”
Scott, Lydia and Derek all look between each other, because the idea of Peter Hale fearing anything is apparently a new concept. She can feel the threads of her magic lessening, and she tries to refocus again, grabbing the fraying ends and pulling them close again. The blood progresses, making its way over New Orleans and continuing forward, before she can see the brown of Hayley’s hair and the green of Derek’s eyes fading.
“No. No, no, no.” Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. She reaches forward for the blood bowl, trying to increase her connection to the power. The spell is fraying, and she doesn’t know how this fell apart. It shouldn’t have been this hard to find…
Who was she looking for? Someone important. Someone necessary. Someone —
Peter. She forces the name out and begins drawing her finger through the blood in sharp letters until the spell cuts off completely, and she feels like someone has ripped her heart from her chest. As the tether snaps, the magic breaks, and her consciousness fades into darkness.
* * * * *
“Freya? Freya!”
Freya opens her eyes to the gray scale shadows of Hayley’s face leaning over her, along with Derek and Scott. She groans, her head pressing to her forehead at the headache that won’t subside. Derek’s hand supports her as she slides into a sitting position and she lets out a groan.
“That was more backlash than I expected.” Freya rubs at the back of her neck. She doesn’t feel right, but who does when trying to recover from a bad spell. “What—what was I trying to do?”
“Honestly, I hoped you could tell me.” Hayley shifts to lean over the map, studying the information that remained. “It looks like some kind of locator spell.”
Freya eyes the ingredients curiously, still confused at what she’s doing here. Or why she even left New Orleans in the first place, what with her brother and niece missing. Or was this a part of it? Why would she go to Beacon Hills to cast a locator spell for Hope?
Derek leans in from the other side, before pointing at the name, finger printed in blood in front of them. “Who’s Peter?”
Freya blinks before tipping her head to the side curiously. “I have no idea.”
F ~ freya/peter ~ teen wolf/tvdverse ~ 2,258
Freya wants to be anywhere but Beacon Hills Memorial right now. There’s too much work to be done.
After receiving the McCall pack’s condolences on the universe’s choice of soulmate for her, she sends them off with a request of a list of ingredients that she’d need for the spell. They don’t seem thrilled about jumping through all these hoops for Peter Hale, but Derek convinces them it’s worthwhile if it gets Freya out of their hair.
It’s not a wrong assumption.
Once they’re gone, she reaches for the various tubes and wires, looking to disconnect herself from these infernal machines as soon as possible.
“Freya, stop.” Hayley’s hands come out of nowhere to pin hers to the bed, stopping her from whatever she’s doing.
“We need to find the nematon so I can get started.”
“You almost bled to death.”
“You can give me some of your blood now. It won’t mess with the spell field.”
“No.” Hayley’s hands tighten, using a bit of her superior strength to pin the witch down, almost as though she knows her reserves are too low to waste any on anything other than the locator spell. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what happened.”
Freya purses her lips, but stops struggling. “Peter was digging into a group of hunters learning from an old nemesis of his. He found out that they had joined forces with a secret organization called Triad. He came back to see what my brothers might know abut it, but they followed him.”
“And they’re the ones who took him?”
“He took Hope while Klaus tried to hold them off. Ran into the Quarter. The next thing I know I’m—”
Before she can finish the sentence, her body convulses, and her heartbeat spikes. Freya lets out a scream of pain as it feels like a wave of electricity shoots through her—phantom pains, so she can only imagine that what Peter’s going through is much worse.
She’s assaulted by a series of images through Peter’s eyes. An electricity generator connected to a chain-link fence. Faces of hunters who are asking him some kind of question, but the words aren’t coming through. Eventually, the pain subsides, and she collapses back against the bed.
“Freya?” Hayley’s concern is clear, and Freya shakes her head.
“They’re torturing him,” she murmurs, scrubbing her face. “Occasionally I’ll get… flashes.”
“I didn’t know you two had bonded that close.” Hayley frowns. “Peter had Hope? Does that mean…?”
She shakes her head. “I haven’t seen her in any of the visions. He wouldn’t have let them hurt her. He would have hidden her somewhere safe first.”
Hayley nods, scrubbing her hands over her face. “Where’s Klaus?”
“That, I don’t know.” She swallows hard. “Someone shot me. When I came to, I was alone. But if you’re still seeing in color, then…”
“Then he’s still alive.” Hayley nods. “I know. I’ve been holding on to that. But now I don’t know where my daughter is.”
Freya reaches forward and places a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find them. All of them. But in order to do that—”
“I need to get you out of here. I know.” Checking to make sure that none of the nurses and doctors were coming, Hayley bites into her wrist before offering it to Freya to drink. She swallows the metallic taste greedily, almost as though it might will it to work faster. Soon, she was feeling steadier, the aftershocks of the vision wearing off, and she moves to swing to her feet.
“Find me pants,” Freya orders. “We have a tree to find.”
Another wave of pain hits her as the two of them settle into the car Derek left behind for them, and Freya grips the door handle as she tries to force away the pain. She’s in the passenger’s seat, fortunately, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. This time she can make out more of the faces of those responsible, make out a few more of the words, but she still doesn’t know what they want from him.
Part of her wants to reach back, try to tell him she’s coming for him. That she will do her best to recover him quickly, even if it takes all the magic she has left. From him, all she can feel is pain and stubborn indignation.
“Freya?” Hayley asks again, just to be sure, and Freya shakes her head as she comes out of it.
“Drive.”
The drive into the preserve is slow, with Hayley slowly navigating her way through the small paths until they reach a clearing with a large tree stump. Standing there is what looks like a sheriff’s deputy, who peers at them both curiously. There’s something more to him, though Freya can’t quite put her finger on what.
“You’re new,” he comments.
“We’re visiting. Scott McCall knows we’re here and we need to borrow the nematon.” Freya doesn’t have time for local politics, but he relaxes at the idea of Scott knowing they’re here. She goes to commune with the tree, settling on the top of the stump and crossing her legs under her.
“Right.” The man turns to the other woman curiously. “Jordan Parrish.”
“Hayley Marshall. And that’s Freya Mikaelson. Scott didn’t tell you we were coming?”
Parrish shakes his head. “No, I, uh. Have a special relationship with the tree.” There’s a long, uncomfortable pause. “I’m a hellhound.”
“That makes sense.” Freya opens her eyes and enters the conversation, studying him curiously. “It’s been a long time since I’ve come across one of your kind. But then again, it’s been a long time since I’ve had need for a nematon.”
“If you don’t mind my asking—” Parrish is very polite. Very different from the last hellhound Freya encountered. “—what exactly do you want with the nematon?”
“We’re trying to find Peter Hale.”
Parrish’s face sours almost immediately. “Are you sure you want to?”
“Good to see that Peter still makes friends wherever he goes,” Freya sighs, getting the sense that no one in this town actually cares about the person she’s come to depend on. Not that she had any delusions about the man Peter was, but she had expected a little more concern.
Hayley sighs. “He’s in trouble, and it’s making her a little cranky.”
Parrish shakes his head. “No, I’m sure even he has people who care about him. I just don’t run into them that often.”
Another pair of headlights appears over the crest of the hill, and Scott, Lydia and Derek climb out of the car, with the bag of ingredients she asked for. She reaches forward to take them, and Scott eyes the nematon suspiciously.
“You’re not going to wake that up anymore than it already is, are you?”
Freya shakes her head. “Just borrowing a little extra juice, that’s all.”
“How does this spell work, exactly?” Derek asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Usually a locator spell just needs something that belongs to them.”
“Yes, but wherever he is, he’s being cloaked so I need to take a more direct approach.” Freya looks over at Scott and Lydia. “The bite he gave you both is a metaphysical bond. A sharing of energy that an alpha gives to their betas, whether they’re birthing them or biting them. Even if the alpha is no longer an alpha, that bond remains.” He then glances over at Derek. “And you’re family, by blood, even if not by choice. With a mix of all our bloods, and the right enchantment, I might break through whatever they’re using to cloak him.”
“Why your blood?” Parrish asks and Freya grits her teeth, not wanting to explain this again. Thankfully—or not—Lydia speaks up for her.
“Peter’s her soulmate.”
Parrish winces. “I’m sorry.” Though at least it seems like he’s apologizing for his commentary, rather than the fact that it’s Peter. Still, Freya grits her teeth in protest.
“I really wish people would stop—”
Another vision assaults her, and she lets out a cry of pain, slumping forward on the stump. Instinctively, her body draws some of the tree’s power and things solidify, pushing through the pain and the white hot murderous rage that she’s acutely familiar with as being Peter’s.
“You’re going to tell us where the tribrid is, mutt.” The hunter sneers, flipping the switch on the generator again. “We’ll get the truth out of you. And then? Well, they’ll never see us coming.”
Freya jerks out of the vision to find Derek and Hayley, both leaning over her, concerned. Freya reaches up, swiping at the trickling sensation under her nose and coming back with blood.
“You can’t do this,” Hayley protests. “The visions are taking too much out of you.”
“They don’t have Hope,” Freya rasps, focusing on Hayley. “They’re torturing him to find out where he hid her.”
Something like relief flows through Hayley, and she shakes her head. “Still, this is too much. He won’t give her up, and you know that.”
“Are you sure?” Lydia replies. “The Peter we know only cares about his own skin.” Freya and Hayley turn two stern glares at the redhead, but Derek is the one who speaks.
“Not if it’s a kid,” Derek shakes his head. “I can’t believe he’s that far gone that he would sacrifice a little girl.” Derek looks back over at the other two. “You guys don’t have to help us find him, but I will.”
“No,” Scott shakes his head. “I’ll help. If it keeps your daughter safe.”
“Thank you,” Hayley nods. “But I still don’t think Freya is up for this.”
“Just give me a little more blood, and I’ll be fine.”
“And if you die and go into transition.”
“I won’t die.”
“Freya—”
“I won’t die,” Freya’s voice softens. “I can handle this. But we need to get started. We can’t keep debating this.”
Hayley takes a deep breath before nodding. “Okay. Okay. But if it looks like you’re overloading yourself, I’m pulling the plug.”
Freya nods, taking whatever small win she can get before gesturing for the bag of supplies the trio brought her. She pulls out a wooden bowl and a knife before extending it to each of them. “I need you all to bleed into this. I’ll take care of the rest.”
She just hopes they aren’t running out of time.
Starting the spell comes easily. She takes the bowl of blood and pours it over the map in front of her. The longer she chants, the mixture flows outwards, creating a winding path away from them towards the person she’s looking for. The problem is, Peter is far, far away, so progress is slow.
Still, she keeps chanting. The blood has made it to Oklahoma City, when the low simmering rage she’s learned to recognize as Peter changes to a spike of fear. It comes suddenly enough that her concentration falters, and she places a hand over her chest.
“Something’s wrong.”
“He’s being tortured,” Derek points out. “You already knew that.”
“Yes, but when that was happening, he was angry. Now he’s scared.”
Scott, Lydia and Derek all look between each other, because the idea of Peter Hale fearing anything is apparently a new concept. She can feel the threads of her magic lessening, and she tries to refocus again, grabbing the fraying ends and pulling them close again. The blood progresses, making its way over New Orleans and continuing forward, before she can see the brown of Hayley’s hair and the green of Derek’s eyes fading.
“No. No, no, no.” Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. She reaches forward for the blood bowl, trying to increase her connection to the power. The spell is fraying, and she doesn’t know how this fell apart. It shouldn’t have been this hard to find…
Who was she looking for? Someone important. Someone necessary. Someone —
Peter. She forces the name out and begins drawing her finger through the blood in sharp letters until the spell cuts off completely, and she feels like someone has ripped her heart from her chest. As the tether snaps, the magic breaks, and her consciousness fades into darkness.
“Freya? Freya!”
Freya opens her eyes to the gray scale shadows of Hayley’s face leaning over her, along with Derek and Scott. She groans, her head pressing to her forehead at the headache that won’t subside. Derek’s hand supports her as she slides into a sitting position and she lets out a groan.
“That was more backlash than I expected.” Freya rubs at the back of her neck. She doesn’t feel right, but who does when trying to recover from a bad spell. “What—what was I trying to do?”
“Honestly, I hoped you could tell me.” Hayley shifts to lean over the map, studying the information that remained. “It looks like some kind of locator spell.”
Freya eyes the ingredients curiously, still confused at what she’s doing here. Or why she even left New Orleans in the first place, what with her brother and niece missing. Or was this a part of it? Why would she go to Beacon Hills to cast a locator spell for Hope?
Derek leans in from the other side, before pointing at the name, finger printed in blood in front of them. “Who’s Peter?”
Freya blinks before tipping her head to the side curiously. “I have no idea.”